


All The Good We Do Not Do

by theunknownfate



Category: Watchmen
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, darkest hour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:57:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunknownfate/pseuds/theunknownfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old prompt: http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/2938.html?thread=6887546#t6887546 in which someone is killed whilst the Nite Owl/Rorschach team are 'busy' and Rorschach breaks their partnership out of shame. Might not be exactly what was requested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Good We Do Not Do

Rorschach hadn't seen Dan since that night. He was aware that his partner (former, he reminded himself again) had looked for him, but that was over a year ago. It was the first time in a long time that any of his patrols had brought him this close to Dan's brownstone and he couldn't help but pass by just to see it. He knew better than to see Dan or let himself be seen. He remembered every inflection of what they had both said the night Rorschach had broken it off. It still ground painfully under his ribs just to think of it.

The bright 'For Sale' sign snapped him out of his misery. What? There it was, right beside Dan's door. That didn't make any sense at all. Every window was dark. He couldn't see inside. The door was locked. That had never stopped him before. This time it did. Every kick vibrated the door against a much sturdier lock than had ever been there before. The lock didn't budge. Rorschach had to pick it.

He was nervous in the open. Anyone on the street could see him, but there was no one there. It was a very good lock. It felt like hours before he made any progress at all, and another eternity before he finally heard it click. He hurried inside, then stopped.

Even in the dark, he could tell that the room was empty. Every room was. The furniture was gone. The walls were bare. He could hear himself breathing hard and fast as he searched through the house. Nothing. The pulse in his ears grew so loud he expected to see the walls bowing with it. 

Dan couldn't move. How could he move? He had put so much work into his hidden lair- and then Rorschach sprinted for the kitchen, skidding to a stop on the linoleum when he saw that the basement door was gone. It had been walled over and the whole room painted. He could smell the difference in the fresher paint.

No. No. This was wrong. Everything about this was terribly wrong. He hurried back out and around to the subway entrance. It was still accessible and he ran as fast as he was able down the tunnel. He remembered every step even though he hadn't been back since- The power was out so he used his flashlight. What would he do if the Nest was walled off too? 

"No," he whispered to himself. "No, no, no!" But the way was clear. The Nest was still there. His guts were knotted too tightly to let him feel relief at that, and they twisted even tighter when he saw Archie's hatch hanging open, dust on the stairs and the handrail. Dan wouldn't have left it like that. 

There were splatters on the floor, old and dry, but definitely blood. His feet had frozen, so he had to let the flashlight rove around the room. Blood on the floor, on the hatch, on what he could see of Archie's interior. Blood on the stair, on the hand rail, a trail of it from pilot chair to the spotless new cinder block wall, blocking the way to the kitchen. 

Rorschach made himself breathe. If the door had been sealed from both sides, someone had done that, someone who knew and was protecting Dan's secrets. He let himself hope for a desperate moment that it had been Dan, but Dan would never leave his ship like this. Why would his house be empty? Why would he leave his Nest and his home like this if he was still alive? Who else could it have been? Who else knew? Mason. 

Rorschach ran back down the tunnel to get to the street. He didn't have change, but he had learned to smash a pay phone just right to open the change box and still leave it working. He hadn't forgotten the number, even though he had never called it. When Mason picked it up, Rorschach grated out his name. There was silence. 

"Where's Daniel?" Rorschach asked and the silence stretched longer. 

"You're supposed to be his partner," Mason said, voice dry and tight with anger. The accusation in it was like needles. "Shouldn't you know?" Then, he hung up, leaving Rorschach gasping and frozen and clutching the phone tight enough to hurt. Dan was dead. He had to be. Archie left gaping open. The brownstone gutted and hollow. The blood everywhere. It was the only answer. 

Dan had been patrolling. Alone. Because his partner had deserted him. He had been hurt. Had made it home, made it up the stairs, but then? Had he bled to death in the floor trying to reach the extra first aid kit on the shelf? Had he managed to call 911 and been pronounced dead in the hospital? Mason had covered for him. Had been there when Rorschach hadn't. Had hidden his secrets so that no one would know that a hero had fallen. And had obviously, rightfully blamed Rorschach for letting it happen.

Rorschach was dizzy and suddenly queasy. He staggered away from the phone and into an alley. Instinct knew he was vulnerable and wanted him out of sight. It didn't help. It hadn't helped that night either, when the girl had died. They had been close enough to hear her if she had screamed. Maybe she had and they had been too lost in their own moans to notice. She had died because he hadn't been able to resist burying himself in the strength and sweetness of his partner. The guilt had consumed him. The shame had torn him apart, and the need that made him want to go straight back to Dan for comfort had cost him everything. 

It couldn't happen again. He had to be stronger than that, and he couldn't be, not with Dan, just as stricken as he was, but still reaching out. Not when he would have to give in. So he had left the only friend and lover he had ever had, would ever have, and it had left him almost as sick and reeling as this. The girl had died because of his desires and Dan had died because of his shame. Neither emotion was worth their lives. It should've been him that died. 

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear over his attempts to pull in air. He pulled the mask up and then completely off. His layers were choking him. He peeled them off and hid them in the trash like always and staggered away to get a hold of himself. Passersby flinched from him. They probably thought he was drunk. 

So many times he had rationalized a reason to go back to Dan and every time he had fought it back with the image of the strangle marks on the girl's throat. He had imagined that he and her rapist might've been climaxing at the same awful moment, and the thought had never failed to make him heave. He lurched against a wall to vomit into a trash can. 

What had he been doing when Dan had been struck down? Walking aimlessly? Wasting time with some pickpocket or punk when Dan had been dying? Dan had been a fighter, Rorschach told himself, eyes clenched tight against tears as he retched again. Dan knew the risks. Had accepted them. It was inevitable, really. It would be him one day. 

Not soon enough, another part of himself wailed. Time with Dan had never been wasted. As much as it had cost him, he still clung to that last time together as a moment of bliss before the world ended. He had finally really lost everything. Did it even matter what happened to him now? 

He had never mattered. Just the mission had mattered. It had been the same for Nite Owl. So why did losing Dan this time feel like a yawning chasm under all his hopes? Nite Owl had mattered and the horrible city had killed him. It deserved whatever happened to it. 

No. He made himself stand upright again. He had turned his back on Dan and lost him. He couldn't abandon anything else, lose anymore parts of his soul. What else was even left to him now, but life and hope?


End file.
